


The Kings and the Contract

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:24:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil takes a bad-tempered Legolas back to Mirkwood, leaving Thorin to deal with a difficult Dain of the Iron Hills who is on a visit to Erebor with the idea of protecting his son’s interests.  Truculent and surly, he wants the inheritance of Erebor for his son, Young Thorin, yet still cannot stomach the relationship between the two kings, fearing that Thorin will renege on the deal that is between them.  And how can Thranduil bear to be apart from Thorin?  And will he take his horse on a midnight ride in order to snatch a few hours in his lover's bed?</p><p>Follows on from: The Kings and their Heirs.</p><p>First story in this series: King of the Antlered Throne</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> I know a goodly number of you have stuck with this series and are still reading. Thank you so much for your efforts! Hope you enjoy this next story and its twists.

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Contract

 

Chp I

 

Encounters

 

“What’s happened , Brangwyn?” asked Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, as the dwarf woman marched into Thorin’s apartment.  She looked up into a pair of limpid blue eyes and thought, as she often did, that the ethereal beauty of the elf lord surpassed anything she had ever seen……unless it were the earthy beauty of the king of Erebor.  And she glanced hesitantly across at Thorin who was seated in the window, the very epitome of the best that his kingdom could offer.

 

“They’ve had another fight,” she said.

 

The two kings sighed in resignation.  “I knew this harmony between them wouldn’t last,” muttered Thorin.  “What’s wrong now?”

 

“Nothing,” she replied.  “It is as it always has been: Legolas is an elf and Young Thorin is a dwarf.  They’re just not compatible.  The peace lasted only a day after all our problems were sorted out and now we’re back to square one.”

 

“Well,” snapped Thranduil, “you see before you a dwarf and an elf who not only get along but love each other.  Surely it’s not beyond these two to be friends?”

 

“I think it may be,” was the dwarf woman’s opinion.  “They started off on the wrong foot and that’s the default position they’ve returned to.  They just rub each other up the wrong way, I’m afraid.”

 

“So, what now?” asked Thorin anxiously because he guessed what Brangwyn was about to say.

 

“I think that everyone needs a break from each other,” she said firmly.  “Thranduil should take Legolas back to Mirkwood and spend some time with him there, as we all agreed should happen, whilst you, Thorin, spend time with Dain’s son here in Erebor.  After seven days, Thorin can visit Mirkwood for a week and then Thranduil can come back with him to Erebor for a similar period.  Subsequently, the three week cycle can start all over again.”

 

“A whole week apart,” groaned Thorin.

 

“You agreed,” said Brangwyn sharply.

 

“We know,” said Thranduil.  “But that doesn’t stop any separation from being a hardship.”  And he and the dwarven king exchanged glances.

 

Thorin held up his hand.  “All right, Brangwyn, don’t look at us like that.  We know that we have to divide our time between each other, our kingdoms and our heirs.  We know what we must do, so you mustn’t worry that we shall break our word on the matter.”

 

“Good,” she said briskly, “because I think that you ought to set out this afternoon, Thranduil, before Dain arrives.  It will only cause further problems if he finds you here.”

 

The two kings looked reluctant for a moment and then they slowly nodded their heads.  “Of course, you are right,” Thranduil replied.  “I’ll collect my son and then we’ll be off.”  He glanced across at Thorin and then back to the dwarf woman.  “Five minutes?”  Their friend nodded and gave them an understanding smile before making her exit from the room.

 

Thranduil locked the door and then took Thorin in his arms.  The dwarf relaxed against his chest and kissed his white throat.  “Have we got time?” he murmured.

 

“No,” said the elven king, pulling him tightly into his embrace.  “Dain will be here soon and I must find Legolas and ride out before his arrival.”

 

“He should be pleased with your presence,” Thorin grumbled.  “It is only my love for you that has led to me making Young Thorin my heir because I shall never take a wife and produce one of my own.”

 

“He likes the idea in theory because of its advantageous outcome,” laughed Thranduil sourly, “but he is reactionary and uncompromising in his attitudes to life and, at heart, he just finds it difficult to accept our relationship.  It is best if we don’t thrust anything in his face.”

 

The two kissed and sighed and kissed again.  And then, their hands lingering upon each other’s bodies, they reluctantly slipped away and parted one from the other, Thranduil giving his lover one last, hungry look before leaving the room.

 

Thorin shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes closed.  One whole week; 168 hours; thousands of minutes.  And every second would weigh heavily upon him.  Then he shook himself and went to change his casual clothes into something more regal and more suitable in which to entertain Dain.

 

.o00o.

 

Some hours later, a loud knock echoed through his apartment and the door was flung unceremoniously open.  Thorin rolled his eyes.  He must remember to turn the key more often.  Then, not to his surprise, the imposing figure of Dain of the Iron Hills strode into the room with his son walking sullenly at his heels.

 

He was older than Thorin but shorter and twice as wide.  It was difficult to mistake him for anything other than a dwarven warlord, with his fierce glare, aggressive stance and heavily bearded features.  But, there was something about him that also said ‘king’: not such a king as Thorin with his elegance and quiet air of majesty but a king who knew his will and would force it upon others no matter what.  Rough, tough and stiff-necked, he was not a dwarf that one would want to face either on a battlefield or across a council table because he always played to win.

 

“Thorin!” he grunted.

 

“Dain!” replied Thorin, rising politely to his feet.

 

Dain’s eyes flicked over the king of Erebor briefly and didn’t much approve of what he saw.  Thorin was dressed in beautiful silks and velvets and his hands and ears were hung with gold.  Well, if the Iron Hills had only a fraction of Erebor’s wealth, then perhaps he could afford to dress in a similar style, thought Dain…..except that he wouldn’t, because he saw such clothing and such frippery geegaws as a sign of something less than manly and unbecoming in a dwarf.  And he glanced sideways at his son who was similarly attired: already too heavily influenced by his new adoptive father, he thought.

 

“Not grown the beard yet, I see,” he snorted in greeting, running a heavy hand down over his own.

 

“No,” said Thorin politely, “I like it this way.”  Actually, it was Thranduil who liked his elegantly clipped beard and he had decided to keep it short for his lover’s pleasure.

 

Dain shook his head and snorted but Thorin quickly moved on to civilities.  “Was the journey uneventful?” he asked, bowing the two of them towards some chairs.

 

“Pretty much,” muttered Dain.  “A few orcs are still holding out in the hills and we did rout one band of them – but, mostly, they keep out of our way.  They’re a pitiful, starving lot and easily put to the sword.”  He sat down in a chair and poured himself a goblet of wine but Thorin noticed that his son remained standing.  Like a servant, he thought.  He poured the prince a goblet of wine too but his heir shook his head.  Thorin didn’t force it upon him or invite him to sit.  If this was the way that father and son played things, then he wouldn’t interfere.  But, the prince looked anxious and Thorin felt rather annoyed that his father was treating him this way: after all, he was now the Heir of Durin and one who would eventually inherit all the power and wealth of Erebor.  But, for the moment, the king held onto his opinion.

 

They discussed the political scene for a time and Thorin noticed that, if he tried to involve the prince, then he made only brief, stumbling responses which his father ignored anyway.  And he also noticed  that Dain usually addressed him as ‘boy’ and that Young Thorin stood awkwardly with his shoulders hunched and head bowed for much of the time, quite unlike his usual, arrogant and confident bearing.  He’s been badly bullied, concluded the king, and felt surprised that the prince had turned out as well as he had done.  Perhaps the vast, marble halls of Erebor and the congeniality of its inhabitants had enabled his heir to fly a little.

 

Thorin rang for a servant and Dain was led away to his allotted apartment.  His son went with him and Thorin flung him an understanding look as he left the room.  But, the prince refused to meet his eye and held his head a bit higher.  Too proud to accept any sympathy, then, thought Thorin.  But Dain was only here for the week and they would both have to stomach him for the time being.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin got bathed and dressed for dinner.  It seemed odd not to share his bath with Thranduil, not to have the elven king there, sitting athwart his lap to sponge him and kiss him and wash his hair.  He felt lonely and he missed the elf’s laughter – but at least, with no distractions, he would be downstairs to the Great Hall on time for a change and would not have to face any disapproving glances.

 

He sat on his throne-like chair at the head of the table and nodded graciously to those who were already seated.  And, when Dain and his son entered the hall, he gestured them to seats on either hand.  Thorin smiled to himself:  Dain hadn’t exactly made an effort but was still dressed in the dusty riding gear that he had arrived in earlier that day.  Not a dandy, then.

 

Dain reluctantly made polite comments about the beauties of the Great Hall whilst the prince sat in silence.  Then Brangwyn arrived and Thorin invited her to join them.  She was looking very fine in a pretty silken dress.  She had, at least, made an effort and she had made it for the prince’s sake, not wanting Dain to think that his son was mixing with any scruffy hoi-polloi.  Her honey-coloured hair bobbed in delightful curls about her shoulders; her bright and lively brown eyes twinkled merrily as they swept around the assembled company and her neckline, although modest, exposed an attractive area of plump, creamy skin.

 

Thorin stood and, bowing over Brangwyn’s hand, led her to a seat next to Dain.  There were so few dwarf women that, to have one sitting at one’s side, was considered a great pleasure.  But, although Dain should have been pleased, he eyed Brangwyn suspiciously and wondered what she was to Thorin.

 

However, Brangwyn smiled and laughed and twinkled up at him from under long, golden lashes, making him feel young and virile again; and he found himself enjoying her company.  Young Thorin sat in silence still and glowered at them from across the table.  He didn’t like the friendly way that Brangwyn interacted with his father; nor did he like it when his father lifted her white hand to his lips and kissed it.  His father appeared to be flirting – if that were possible – with a woman a fraction of his age and he found it very distasteful, especially when the object of interest was someone he wanted for himself.

 

Partway through the meal, when Thorin had escorted Dain a bit further down the table to talk with Balin and some others of his distant kin, the prince was left to chat with Brangwyn.

 

“You seem to find my father delightful company,” muttered Young Thorin.

 

“Indeed,” said Brangwyn cautiously, hearing the edge to his voice, “he is a fine man.”  But, in all honesty, she had found him rather overwhelming – even intimidating - and his flirtatious manner had made her flesh crawl a little.

 

“You must be enjoying having your father here,” she said.  “You haven’t seen him for some time.”  She was curious as to the prince’s relationship with Dain because, from where she had been sitting, it appeared to be an uneasy one.

 

“No,” he said bluntly.  “I don’t like my father – never have done – and, if I had to choose, I’d take Thorin any day.  I was never so glad in all my life when I was invited to Erebor – and not just because I was going to be the Heir of Durin.”

 

“He seems like a stern, hard man,” she pressed quietly.  “And I can imagine there was not much gentleness after your mother died.”

 

“Not a lot,” said Young Thorin tersely.  And, at that moment, Thorin returned with his father to their part of the table.  Brangwyn didn’t hear the prince say much more for the rest of the evening.

 

.o00o.

 

**Next and final chapter: Thranduil pays Thorin an unexpected visit and Dain makes an interesting suggestion.**

 

.o00o.


	2. Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second and final chapter: Thranduil pays Thorin an unexpected night time visit and Dain makes an interesting suggestion.

.o00o.

 

Chp II

 

Proposition

 

Dain was visiting Erebor to make sure that his son was behaving himself and to ascertain that Thorin was treating him as befitted an heir of Durin.  After a couple of days of this ‘inspection’, Thorin was exhausted at the constant scrutiny but, as he lay in bed, he found that he couldn’t go to sleep.  It was at times like these that he really needed Thranduil.  The elven king would laugh and make him see the funny side of things and then he would make love to him and hold him in his arms until he fell asleep.  His bed felt so cold and empty without him.

 

And now the situation had worsened.  Dain had told him today that he felt the ’boy’ had grown slovenly without his own father to keep him on his toes.  Then he had nagged and bullied the prince for the rest of the day until he had announced during the evening meal that he would be staying for another week.  “And, of course,” he had added with a laboured chivalry, “how could I deprive the beautiful Brangwyn of my attentions?”  And he had kissed her fingertips whilst the prince had gripped his knife and fork more tightly and glowered more fiercely across the table.

 

Thorin’s heart had dropped into his boots even whilst he was making courteous rejoinders.  Another week without Thranduil!  And he had reluctantly penned a letter to the elven king later that evening, explaining what further fly had landed in the ointment.

 

If this letter had not been full of messages of love, then Thranduil, when he received it, would quite willingly have screwed it up and flung it across the room.  He also went to bed that night in a vile and frustrated mood.  This whole business just wasn’t working out as they had planned and, even though he had enjoyed the company of his son these past few days, he missed the company – and the body – of the dwarf more.

 

He went out on his balcony and stared up at the rising moon: and then he made a decision.  He got a few things together and then he descended to the stables.  There, he woke a sleepy stable-boy and, with his help, saddled his fastest horse.

 

A few hours later, he clattered into the yard at Erebor and yet another sleepy stable-hand stumbled out to take care of his sweating mount.  Then, Thranduil mounted the staircase to Thorin’s rooms.

 

The bedroom was quiet and moonlit and the elven king stood by his lover’s bed where he lay now quietly asleep, half-under the coverlet, the tangled sheets a testimony to how restless had been his repose.  The light silvered one massive shoulder as he sprawled on his side and Thranduil yearned to reach out and touch it.  But he knew he was cold and smelled of horse and damp woodlands and so he stripped and retired to the marble bath where he bathed in warm water for an impatient five minutes.

 

Then he returned to the bed and slipped between the sheets.  He did not touch Thorin at first, fearing that he was still too cold, but lay only an inch from his body where he let the dwarf’s heat slowly warm him like one of Erebor’s great furnaces.  Then, finally, he curved into his back and wrapped his arm tenderly about his waist, kissing that heavily muscled shoulder that had so tempted him a while ago.

 

For an hour, he just lay there, breathing in the smell of him and sighing at the feel of his skin beneath his finger-tips and the silkiness of the chest hair brushing his palm.   But, he was painfully hard and erect against the dwarf’s buttocks and he wondered whether he should wake him.  Then, without any move on Thranduil’s part, Thorin finally turned in his arms.  “Thranduil?” he murmured, brushing the elf’s lips with his own.  He was still half-asleep and only half-believing because his lover always haunted his dreams at night.  “Thranduil?” he said again.  And those impossibly deep blue eyes slowly opened and fixed on Thranduil’s face.  “What are you doing here?” he asked in confusion.  But his arm reached out and he tightly held the elf’s full length against his own as if he feared that he would disappear as quickly as he had come.

 

“I’m visiting,” smiled the elven king.  “Am I unwelcome?  Would you like me to leave?”

 

“No,” groaned the dwarf.  “Stay with me forever.”

 

“Or at least until the hour before dawn,” was the wry response.  “I must get back to Mirkwood before Legolas realises that I am gone.  I have a meeting with him mid-morning and it would anger him if he knew that I had chosen rather to be in your arms.”

 

“And you have ridden through the night to be with me?” asked Thorin in amazement.

 

Thranduil raised a hand and gently cupped his face.  “Know that I would do anything for you, beloved,” he said, and their mouths closed in a hungry and passionate kiss.  The elven king’s hand ran down the dwarf’s back and then under his heavy thigh, pulling it up to rest upon his hip.  “I thought of this moment all the way here,” he murmured in his ear as he gently pressed into him.

 

Their love-making was lingering and fulfilling.  But then a cock crowed and Thranduil slipped reluctantly from Thorin’s body and from his bed.  “We shall be together again soon,” he said.  Then he got dressed and went quietly from the room, leaving Thorin to wonder if it had been a dream once more, although, he grinned to himself, perhaps the soreness of his body indicated otherwise.

 

Down in the courtyard, Thranduil was galloping away into the dawn.  And Dain, who often rose early for a ride, stared after him.  “When did the elf arrive?” he asked the stable-hand.

 

“A few hours since,” was the reply.  “His horse was sweating and he had driven it hard.”

 

Dain drew his brows together in a deep frown and, later, took out his bad temper on his poor mount.

 

.o00o.

 

Dain paid Thorin a private visit early that evening.  “Well, you see,” he said, when they were settled at a table with a drink in their hands, “I’m concerned about this agreement we have.”

 

Thorin raised an enquiring eyebrow.

 

“My son is the heir to the throne of Durin because you don’t intend to have children yourself.”

 

“Correct,” said Thorin.

 

“It’s not that I doubt the promise of a king,” continued Dain slowly, “but how do I know that your relationship with Thranduil will last and that you won’t get married after all?”

 

“Because,” said Thorin stiffly, “not only do you have my word – which should be enough – but we have all signed a contract.”

 

“Contracts can be torn up,” was the brusque response.  “A king would do much for a child of his own blood.”

 

“There will be no child,” said Thorin harshly.

 

There was a pause.  Then: “And what of the dwarf woman, Brangwyn?”

 

Thorin sighed to himself.  Why did a simple friendship with a dwarf woman always seem to provoke suspicion?  “She is a friend,” he said.

 

Dain leaned forward in his chair.  “And if she is merely a friend, then I can imagine that you would have no objections if I take her as a bride, thus removing any temptation she might present?”

 

Thorin sat in stunned silence.  The thought of Brangwyn in Dain’s bed revolted him.  Finally, he said, “Brangwyn is not mine to give.”

 

Ever since meeting Brangwyn on that first night, Dain had found himself thinking lascivious thoughts in a way that hadn’t happened since he was a young man.  Dwarves taught themselves to control their desires because so few had the opportunity of marriage.  But, when this young woman had been thrust under his nose, the pleasures of the flesh began to loom large in his mind.  He would marry her – quickly: he had burned for her all night.  Then she would never be Thorin’s bride and he might even produce another heir, to replace the son that he had lost.  Once the thought was in his head, he began to think about it obsessively.

 

“She may not be yours to give,” he said, “but may I assume that you wouldn’t stand in my way?”

 

Thorin thought about Young Thorin and Brangwyn, knowing that an affection was growing between them.  He wanted them both as his heirs but, for the moment, he would play his cards close to his chest.  And, who knows, perhaps this marriage was something that Brangwyn might want?  Who understood the minds of women?

 

“Brangwyn must decide for herself,” he said.

 

“Good, good,” said Dain and he slowly rubbed his hands together whilst a gleam came into his eyes as he thought of Brangwyn beneath him.  He was a man who was used to getting his own way and had no fears that she would refuse his proposal.

 

“And now,” he said, changing direction, “about this lover of yours.”

 

Thorin stiffened and felt like telling Dain that his relationship with Thranduil was no business of his, except in so far as it benefited his line.

 

As if reading his thoughts, the lord of the Iron Hills started: “I appreciate the advantages that this – affair - has offered me and my son, but I saw Thranduil riding away from Erebor at dawn this morning and I assumed that he had just come from your bed.”

 

This time, Thorin couldn’t restrain himself:  “And in what way is this your concern?” he asked with an edge to his voice.

 

“It is my concern,” replied Dain, “because my son has been adopted by you and, whatever you do with Thranduil, is a reflection on your heir.  And, this morning, Thranduil provided gossip down in the stables and, by now, all the servants and half of Erebor will know about his visit.”

 

Thorin felt on the edge of an indignant explosion, but he bit his tongue.  “So, what are you suggesting?” he asked in a tight voice.  “If I cast off Thranduil, then it is more likely that I shall find myself a bride.  What is it you want?”

 

Dain sat back in his chair and frowned.  “Your relationship is wrong in so many ways,” he growled.  And Thorin’s hackles rose.  “He is both an elf and another male – and, which of these two things is worse, I wouldn’t care to say,” he muttered in distaste.  “And it is a loose, casual affair – certainly not something that would be tolerated between male and female.  If you had set your mind on Brangwyn, for instance, there would have been a betrothal before any intimacy took place and then a wedding contract would have been signed and then a marriage would have taken place.  As it stands – and seen in this light – your relationship is a debauched disgrace.”

 

Thorin pushed back his chair and rose to his feet; and there was fire in his eyes.  His relationship with Thranduil was a beautiful thing and he was prepared to kill anyone who said otherwise.

 

Dain saw the anger and the violence in his face and realised that he had gone too far.  He hurriedly lifted a hand before Thorin went for his throat.  “No, my lord.  Please don’t misunderstand me.  I do not seek to break up the affair.  I merely wish to regularise it – and in such a way that it safeguards my son’s position as your heir.”

 

Thorin sat slowly down in his chair.  “Explain yourself,” he snarled.

 

“Well,” mused Dain, steepling his fingers, “I know it would be unusual, but could not there be a form of betrothal between you and even some sort of marriage?  Thus committed to each other, I would no longer have to worry about you breaking the contract with my son.”

 

Thorin sat with his mouth open for a good few minutes.  And then he grinned.  Why had he never thought of such an arrangement himself?  How wonderful for the two of them to commit themselves to each other in such a way.  And it had taken this dour dwarf to point it out to him.  He poured another round of drinks and then another.  Dain didn’t seem half so bad when seen through a drunken haze.  Regardless of their promise, he would ride to see Thranduil tomorrow and make all sorts of arrangements.

 

Dain was beginning to sprawl forward on the table.  “Now, Thorin,” he drawled, “I need to know jus’ one important thing.”  And he leered at the king through bleary eyes.

 

“Go ahead, ol’ frien’,” said Thorin with a wide and gracious wave of his hand.

 

“Well, wha’ I wanna know is…” and he licked his lips lubriciously, “wha’ I wanna know is….who exac’ly fucks whom?  And who gets to wear the white dress?”

 

This serious question absorbed them for the rest of the evening, up until the time that they finally passed out on the table.

 

.o00o.

 

**The next story  will deal with the issues raised by this one.  Will Brangwyn accept Dain’s offer of marriage?  Will Young Thorin finally face up to his father?  Will Thorin and Thranduil draw up a marriage contract?  And, most important of all, should Thorin have read Jane Austen first before he made his proposal, LOL?**

**Watch out for _The Kings and the Marriage Proposals, now posted._**

 

 

 


End file.
